Masquerade
by Fire Dancer1
Summary: A short Abby-monologue on her relationship with Carter. *Not* a Carby, so deal with it.


Title: Masquerade

Author: Kate

Summary: Abby monologue on her relationship with Carter

Archive: Sure, just tell me where.

Spoilers: Let- er, Lockdown.

Thanks/dedication: To Noa.  Our long Luby/Carby analyses inspired this!

Feedback: Of course!  As always…J

You come up to me from behind, kissing my neck, and I turn to smile at you.  I know you won't notice that all my smiles lately are forced for you – or if you do notice, you will put it out of your mind.  Because you've convinced yourself that we're happy.  That I'm happy.  And I really can't blame you, for I've done some damn hard work to help you become convinced of that.  And in the process, I've almost convinced myself.  Almost.  And so I continue forcing smiles.  As you lean to kiss my lips, I have to consciously remind myself not to pull away.  After all, it's natural for boyfriend and girlfriend to kiss.  No matter that it doesn't _seem natural, because if it comes naturally to you, that's really all that counts.  I've been pretending one thing or another for years it seems, so what's it to me if I continue the charade that is my life?_

Now you're taking my hand, stroking my fingers with yours, and I'm trying hard to focus my eyes on you.  Or at least _near you, because lately it's become too much to even look at you when you're being so loving.  Do you notice that?  Is being with me as exhausting as being with you is?  Do you consciously have to convince yourself that this is good, that this is right?  I do.  And I'm not very convincing.  Instead of convincing myself of the merits of our relationship, I just come up with more questions, more doubts.  And instead I end up convincing myself that we'd both be happier without each other.  But to act upon that realization would be deadly to this guise I've constructed.  And so I go on pretending._

But lately I've become lax in my pretending.  I find myself not paying enough attention, and almost don't hear you speak.  You have to touch my chin to make me look at you, and I realize you've been asking me a question.   I give you another smile, quickly this time, and say what you're expecting me to say, anyway.  "Sure, I'd love dinner tonight."  _With you, of course, but I can't bring myself to say those words.  There's only so far I can go in this pretending.  You seem satisfied with my answer, because you give me one more kiss and walk outside to meet the incoming trauma._

Sometimes I worry that I've gotten myself in too deep.  That I won't be able to backtrack, to undo what I've started with you.  It started so suddenly, it seems, and yet at the same time had been a long time coming.  It's almost as if we were _expected to end up together.  It would somehow have been wrong if we hadn't.  __I hadn't been ready for you to kiss me when we were quarantined together, but when you did, it seemed like the appropriate thing to kiss you back.  Some of the other nurses had seen us together through the window of that locked room, and after that, well, it – __us – was inevitable.  And we just let it escalate from there.  And escalate it did._

I watch you now, standing outside.  You're talking to Susan, joking, laughing, and I remember when that used to be us.  When our friendship was just that – a friendship – and we spent our days at work bantering back and forth and complaining about our screwed-up lives.  Nothing complicated, and I needed that.  Needed a good, uncomplicated friendship to balance everything else complicated in my life.  I still need that.  And I don't have it.  But I can't figure out how to go back.  I fear this is just one more thing in my life I've managed to screw up royally.

You're pulling a gurney into the ER right now, and I head for the supply room so you don't find me standing exactly where you left me.  Watching you furtively from my hiding place as you work on the patient, I'm reminded that you're a good man.  Funny how I have to remind myself of that lately.  But you are, and I am left feeling guilty for what I'm doing to you.  I'm also feeling like I need a drink, need one desperately.  And that thought just makes me feel guiltier.  I'm deceiving you in more ways than one, apparently.  I'd love for what you believe about me to be true – that you've cured me, that I've recovered because of you.  I _was telling you the truth when I said I went to the meeting for you.  But that was the whole problem.  I went for you.  I always go for you.  I don't want to – I __can't – go for me.  And we both know – we both __should know – that that's the only way to go.  But if you're satisfied with my deception, with not knowing how I sneak vodka into my water bottle and coffee, with not knowing that whenever I go home alone I stop by a bar on the way, then I'll have to be satisfied with that, too.  Because to let you know would be to let you down.  And in telling you, I'd have to admit defeat._

If I told you, would you still look at me the same way? Would you still catch my eye and smile across the crowded ER?  Even more importantly, would you forgive me for this deception?  I have a feeling that my defeat would become your defeat, that it would represent to you your inability to cure me.  And so, I must continue in this deception.  For your sake as much as mine.

You're handing the trauma over to Luka, which means that your shift is over.  A glance at my watch tells me it's time for me to leave, too.  And I'm reminded of my words of just a short while ago.  "Sure, I'd love dinner tonight."  As you approach the supply room, I ready my smile.  For it must be in place if I'm to pull off my charade for another night.  You greet me with a kiss, and once again I'm surprised that I'm able to kiss you back.  One day, I fear, it will all catch up to me.  One day I won't be able to keep from pulling away when you kiss me.  I won't be able to force a convincing enough smile.  And this carefully constructed world will come crashing down around us.  But at least we won't be living a lie anymore.


End file.
